


Zugzwang

by hatakaashi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Death, F/M, Hq rarepair exchange 2017, M/M, Pining, Sad Ending, not exactly assassin!au but you still get killer!ushijima
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 01:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10232687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatakaashi/pseuds/hatakaashi
Summary: Not coping well with the loss of his partner, Sawamura throws himself into his work.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomdieb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomdieb/gifts).



> For [ my broski Kris ❤](https://pinkteabagarhut.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Surprise, motherfucker ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 
> 
> Enjoy your UshiDai angst with a nice cuppa tea. I love you.

Ushijima is only six when he is taken under witness protection. 

“I’ll come visit you every Friday. You’ll be back home before you know it.” His father says and he is too young to notice the way Father won’t quite look at him.

It’ll be years before Ushijima realizes that neither of those things are true.

 

~

 

Before passing on, his grandmother shows him how to do the three things she considers most important - cooking, knitting and doing laundry, in that exact order.

Everything else, he learns from his trips to the public library.

 

~

 

By the time he enrolls at the Academy, he has already developed the ability to not demonstrate much emotion at all. His stomach could be all knotted and twisting, and you would get nothing from his face and even less from his words. 

Everyone thinks that makes him seem like a dick, but he has never been one to care what people say or think.

 

~

 

Ushijima receives his best birthday present yet, the day he turns twenty six.

 

 

\----

 

Sawamura waits until it’s creeping up on six in the morning, before calling.

“Dai-chan, you better have a good reason to be calling me this early on my day off.” Oikawa’s sleepy voice groans.

“There’s a body down at the old shoe factory just outta town. Get dressed, I’ll pick you up in a few.”

“Ugh, fine. At least have the decency to bring some coffee.”

 

~

 

The summer sun angrily beats at their faces, the back of their neck, any exposed skin, and by the time they get back at the precinct, they are drenched in sweat, clothes clinging. The air conditioner is on full blast, but the relief it offers is small.

Sawamura starts rifling through pages of reports from previous open cases that are similar, looking for clues that might have been glossed over. It’s a waste of time, he knows. 

Clicking around on the computer doesn’t prove to be any more productive, but it sure beats sitting by idly and playing with your thumbs.

“I’m just about to go for lunch break.” Shimizu says. “Anything you want?” 

“Uh, yes, actually. Before you go, could you please deal with-”

“The press? Already have. Anything else?”

“Thank you, Shimizu-san, you’re a star. I don’t know what we’d do without you.” He offers up a tired smile.

“Sawamura, you sure you don’t want to come with me? You look like you could eat something.”

He glances at his watch. A short break could do him some good, actually.

“Sure.”

 

~

 

When he gets back at his desk, there’s a torrent of unchecked emails and stacks of paper waiting for him. He sets his volleyball patterned mug of coffee down, taking a moment to look at it, before muttering and internally swearing his way through most of the pile.

Oikawa wanders in hours later and shakes a USB drive in front of his face.

“There’s photos from the crime scene and forensic reports from our blood spatter analysts in there. Unfortunately, they’re still carrying out the postmortem examination, so we won’t have that until tomorrow.” 

“Thanks. Not just for this, but for coming in on your day off.”

“Ehh, don’t mention it. That’s what partners are for.”

“I really appreciate all your help.”

“I’d appreciate you buying me dinner more than your words of gratitude. Buuut you lucked out, Iwa-chan’s cooking for me tonight.”

“Oh?” Sawamura smiles. “Romantic dinner in?”

“Mhmm.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“Don’t stay too long, yeah? Mi-chan will worry.”

“I won’t. I’m meeting her and her friends for drinks later.”

“Oo? You’re finally gonna be introduced to the friends?” Oikawa gasps. “This is a big deal, Dai-chan. Make yourself presentable or you’ll embarrass her. Hmmm. I’ve always thought she’s out of your league anyway.”

Before he can start yelling, Oikawa gives him a two-fingered salute and leaves.

Sighing, he plugs in the USB and starts going over the crime scene photos. Maybe the camera lens were able to pick up something the naked eye couldn’t.

 

~

 

He guesstimates he’s got an hour left of paperwork and then he can finally put away the manila folders, head home for a quick shower and then pop back out.

Hands busy roaming into his desk drawer for a couple of paperclips, he picks up his ringing phone, balancing it over his shoulder.

“Sawamura speaking.” 

“Sawamura, it’s me.”

“Who’s _me_?”

“Ushijima.”

Bile and dread inch up in his throat and he hangs up faster than lightning. 

Heart drumming wildly, he carefully places his phone on his desk as if it were a bomb about to go off.

It rings again. 

“Who the Hell is this?” He answers despite himself, voice angry.

“This is Eagle One, Sawamura, I’m-”

“Whoever you are, stop calling, this isn’t funny!”

Someone is fucking with him, royally, and he’s dead set on finding the scoundrel. Typing away at his computer, he tries tracing the call. 

No dice. Burner phone.

Aware that his heartbeat is irregular, booming into his ears, he closes his eyes and wills himself to calm down. It’s late, anyway. He should just go home, and finish up the rest of the paperwork tomorrow morning.

On his way back, he considers the idea that he’s just tired and imagined the whole thing. Yeah, that’s probably it. It’s not - he knows it’s not - but he’d rather not think about it anymore. 

Maybe he’s running low on sugar, so he does a quick detour towards the closest drive through. 

“What would you like to order, Sir?”

“Can I get the-”

“Donuts?” The kid behind the window grins, but his smile falters when he sees Sawamura’s unamused face. “Apologies, Sir, please tell me your order.”

“Seven-layer burrito and a Mountain Dew.”

“Could I interest you in our special offer of-”

“No. Just the burrito and the Mountain Dew, thanks.”

Sawamura knows he shouldn’t eat and drive, especially since he’s always yelling at Oikawa whenever he brings food inside the car, but Oikawa’s not present and he makes an exception just this once. He doesn’t want to be late.

Feeling slightly better after devouring his greasy meal, he heads straight into the bathroom for a much needed shower. It’d been a long day and the water pelting away at his skin feels heavenly, washing off the sweat and grime.

He brushes his teeth and inspects his face in the mirror with a frown. He probably should’ve asked Oikawa for a tip against the terrible bags under his eyes.

But Oikawa would probably just say something along the lines of “get enough sleep”. Yeah, right. He doesn’t even remember the last time he got more than five hours worth of shut eye and he’s long stopped trying to. 

He is too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the obvious tell-tale signs. But even if he wasn’t and he was paying closer attention, it would still be a complete an utter shock.

Because when he flips the lights on, walking into his bedroom, there’s someone already there. Waiting for him, seated on the edge of his big double bed, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s olive eyes observe him.

“Hello, Sawamura.” 

Sawamura’s world tilts and he has to clutch at the door frame and lean against it not to faint. He forgets how to breathe, but at the same time that’s all he can do, eyes wide open, mind screaming. 

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his holster. The only thing he’s got at his hips is his towel, which falls at his feet. He makes no attempt to conceal his nakedness, because when you see a ghost, modesty is about the last thing on your mind.

He somehow manages to crawl away from his bedroom floor and picks up his gun from the kitchen counter. 

“Stay back or I’ll shoot!” He yells, voice and hands shaking.

“It’s just me. I mean no harm.” Ushijima puts his hands up, showing he’s unarmed. 

Sawamura’s second warning falls on deaf ears, because Ushijima takes another step forward. 

There’s no third. His finger pulls the trigger. 

It’s not so much the pain of being shot, but the surprise of it that makes Ushijima grunt. He glances at the wound, as if to make sure it’s really there, and then turns his eyes back at Sawamura.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY BACK!” Sawamura shrieks insanely, and it might as well be so, he feels that way too, he _must_ be insane. 

Ushijima’s shoulder is bleeding, but he makes to attempt to staunch the blood flow. Single handedly, he unbuttons his crimson stained shirt and offers it to the still naked Sawamura, who ties it around his waist.

Sawamura tries to get his breathing under control, but this is all so much, this is all _too_ much. When he feels the beads of cold sweat over his brow, he knows what’s coming next.

His dinner makes a reappearance and he drops on his knees, retching. When his stomach is emptied out, he brushes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives out a shaky breath.

Over all of his years of being a cop, he’s seen his fair share of bloody, gruesome crime scenes, chopped up cadavers and all kinds of fucked up shit, but this is just insane.

This is crazy. Maybe _he_ has gone crazy and doesn’t quite know it yet. Self awareness isn’t a thing when you go completely batshit.

“You’re not real. You can’t be.” He mutters.

“I assure you, I am very real.” Ushijima replies.

“You’re dead.”

“As you can see I’m very much alive.” He glances at his bleeding shoulder. “Although I won’t be for much longer.”

Sawamura has always been proud of what a great shot he is - until now. He only wanted to graze Ushijima, but his hands were having a serious case of the shakes.

He leads the way into his kitchen, pulling a whiskey bottle from one of the cabinets.

Ushijima’s hand reaches for it.

“That’s for me, asshole!” Sawamura barks. “I need a drink first. If you haven’t bled out by the time I’ve finished, I’ll get you some meds. If you have… well, tough shit.”

 

~

 

Three quick shots of JD later, Sawamura’s still shaken to the core, but not as much as before, the amber liquid numbing the worst of it.

Sitting on his kitchen floor, he watches Ushijima working a needle and thread with near surgical expertise. A small puddle of blood, bullet and penknife at their feet, this almost feels like the good old days.

But not quite.

Ushijima grits his teeth and sploshes a copious amount of alcohol over his right shoulder. 

“Tell me everything.”

 

~

 

It should be a long story, but Ushijima has always been a man of a few words.

Faking your death is easy enough, apparently. All you need is money to buy off a medical practitioner and fork over a molar or two for the dental records.

That’s it. That’s all it takes to get yourself a death certificate.

Ushijima mentions nothing of the pain and grief it results in once declared out in the open and Sawamura doesn’t quite trust his voice to tell him about it.

Not yet.

 

~

 

Every word that escapes Ushijima’s mouth mindfucks Sawamura, but he’s keeping the JD bottle close by. He has to.

Who knew before he even hit the big three-o, he’ll become an overused cop trope. A fuckin’ cliche. 

No, certainly not him.

 

~

 

In Sawamura’s defense, he wasn’t like this before.

When they were roommates back at the Academy, one of the first memories he has of the two of them - and they have so many - is him asking Ushijima why he never got a dog, when he clearly loved them so much.

“Better to never get attached, because nothing ever lasts.” Ushijima replied. “That’s recipe for heartbreak.”

Back then, Sawamura had thought that had been dramatic and foolish. He couldn’t fully imagine any sort of emotion strong enough to cripple him in that way.

More than half a decade of being partners and experiences under his belt, Sawamura is singing a different tune.

Because Ushijima Wakatoshi taught him the hardest lesson of them all by, ironically, embodying the very thing he warned him against.

 

~

 

“I grieved you. We _all_ did. For three whole years. Do you know what that was like?” Sawamura asks, angry and annoyed with himself for not being able to control his tear glands, the burning in his eyes.

“How could you? How could you do this to _me_?”

If Ushijima has an answer, he doesn’t give it.

Sawamura can’t decide if it’s for better or for worse. But he’s certainly glad he doesn’t have to listen to sorry ass excuses.

There are none.

 

~

 

“At least tell me this. Was it worth it? Whatever it is you did after you went ghost.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to tell me what it is, so I shouldn’t bother asking, right?”

The olive eyes stare at him in silence.

“I was finally able to track down my father.”

He hadn’t expected an answer.

Tonight’s full of surprises, it seems. 

“I killed him.”

When he offers Ushijima the bottle of whiskey, Ushijima accepts.

 

~

 

“Sawamura. Tell me about your partner.”

Shit. He forgot all about Yui. She would worry. 

He would just have to tell her he got caught up at work. He always does, accompanied with 17 red roses, delivered at her doorstep.

Sawamura can’t understand why she keeps holding on to him, when he’s damaged goods and she deserves better.

But after stealing a not-so-secret glance at Ushijima, he understands a little better.

Maybe she, too, doesn’t know how to let go.

“She’s beautiful and smart and funny and she loves me a lot.”

Ushijima clears his throat. “Working partner.”

Oh.

 

~

 

Sawamura pulls out a chess board and starts placing the pieces into their assigned positions.

Ushijima doesn’t exactly ask, but his right eyebrow arches up.

“I never got a chance to beat you before.” He explains, head swimming and spinning with endless memories. “Since you’re not dead like I thought you were, I’d like to, now.”

 

~

 

He must have improved, because he has never seen Ushijima actually sweat.

Either that or the fact Ushijima hasn’t practiced for three whole years. 

When you’re scheming up ways to kill your father, playing chess isn’t on your top priority list, surely.

 

~

 

“Checkmate.” Sawamura says proudly.

Finally. 

He _finally_ secures a victory against the unbeatable.

Ushijima nods, but his mind is elsewhere. The same place it must’ve been during the entire game.

“So,” He begins conversationally. “Where you headin’ off to next?”

“Hell.”

“Well, get in line. Just because you faked your death doesn’t mean you get VIP privileges.”

“Sawamura, I’m dying.”

He snorts. “What, again? So soon?”

“I have brain tumor. I no longer respond to the treatment.”

No. No this can’t be right. He said goodbye once and it was difficult enough the first time. It ruined him for lifetimes. He can’t go through that again.

“How long ?”

“A month or so, at best.”

“Why’d you bother patching up your shoulder? You should’ve just bled out earlier. Probably hurts less.”

Ushijima actually smiles at him. “I’m way past the point of pain. Nothing hurts anymore.”

He wishes he could say the same. 

 

~

 

This time there’s no funeral, but unlike last time, the casket is not empty. Sawamura’s the only one present, the only one aware. 

Sawamura places him under his favorite cherry tree in his back garden, for keeps.


End file.
